It is feeding the goats that I enjoy the most on the farm. They are affectionate creatures. And they sure as hell know when it is time to eat. I fill up a large, red plastic Folgers coffee container with pellet-like feed. This feed is supposed to be loaded with nutrients.
As soon as I open the gate, they are after me. Jumping on me; tripping me.
We have the males separated from the females, of course. And, of course, they sometimes find a way to escape, make their way in with the females, and we have a helluva time wrangling them back to their designated area.
Reinforcing fences seems to be a reoccurring duty for me. I do not mind it, though. It makes me feel useful.
However, the goats are the animals I enjoy feeding the most. Not only do I feed them the nutrient pellets, but hay is a MUST, as well. And there is something about cutting the twine with my knife, the smell of the hay as I grab an arm-load of it to carry it to the feeder… the feeling it gives me… it makes me feel like a farmer.
Maybe that is what I REALLY am.
My god, when did this happen?
A year ago, back in Ohio, I was managing a kitchen for a Sober Living home. Now, I’m feeding pigs, going to a feed store, fixing fences.
How the hell did all this happen?
Of course, I still read. I still write. I still cook.
It’s hard for me to determine if “farming” is my job. I do not receive a paycheck; however, I receive all that I could ever want. All I have to do is ask for it. It’s that simple: if you need something, ask. If you desire something, ask. Don’t steal. Don’t lie. Ask. And I don’t ask for much.
Those goats, though, make me smile. They attack me when I enter their pen with food. And today, while reinforcing the fence, no less, two of them were trying to help me. As I was slouched to nail-in a stud into a wall to secure a fence, one of the girls jumped on my back; the other was nibbling on the lanyard of my knife.
This may not be the life I imagined in my twenties… in my teens. Hell, I could never imagine myself raising baby piglets.
(That is a story in itself.)
What I do know: I have been blessed. Why? I have no idea. Maybe there is a god up in the heavens that feels some people have suffered enough… that their bill has been paid for their sins… that it is time for a break from all the broken moments from life.
Maybe I’m reading too much into it.
But I don’t think so.
One thought on “A Fun Part of My Day”
Enjoy your life. It doesn’t matter if your a farmer or a custodian. Life is too damn short. Be happy and don’t look back. You deserve it.
Take care of those sweet animals. They are the only creatures in life that will not judge you!